Distractions
by that dark-haired girl
Summary: It was not the first time Pansy Parkinson had said anything directly to her, but it was the first time they weren’t surrounded by other people. - Missing Moment from HBP.


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Distractions

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"Where is everyone?"

Hermione looked up from her Potions' textbook, surprise spreading across her face at the question. It was not the first time Pansy Parkinson had said anything directly to her, but it was the first time they weren't surrounded by other people. Staring at the Slytherin in the doorway, Hermione did her best to pretend that they were friendly with one another.

"Professor Slughorn had a meeting with Dumbledore, Pansy. And the rest, well, they're always a bit late, aren't they?"

"Wonderful," Pansy muttered gloomily, striding over to her empty seat and dropping her bag on the table. Hermione sighed at the hostility in her voice and turned her eyes back to her book, studying the instructions on the page and racking her brains in an effort to figure out how Harry's potion had turned out better than hers.

"Do you know Paul Simon?"

Hermione again found herself completely taken aback, this time unable to hide her shock. "Er…excuse me?"

"You _are_ a Muggleborn, aren't you?" Pansy asked, the laughter in her voice catching Hermione by surprise. "I thought that you all knew each other."

"I know who Paul Simon is," she said in a firm tone. "But that doesn't mean that I know him _personally_."

There was an awkward silence, in which Pansy studied Hermione with a cold, even gaze and Hermione stared back just as fiercely. Pansy blinked first, her eyes falling to her hands as she smoothed the edges of her nails with her nail file, and Hermione looked back at her book, a small smile playing about her lips as she realized that _she_ had the upper hand.

"My Aunt Amaryllis knew him, you see, before she ran off and married a Muggle." Pansy stated, breaking the uneasy silence between them. "She even went to the States to see him in concert, once. She had all of his, ah, what do you call them? Those round things…you know, they're like plates, but they play music? They're all rather strange, those Muggle contraptions, but she did love them so." Pansy grinned as she spoke, with an air about her that made it seem as though she were retelling the secrets of the Pharaohs, instead of simply discussing Muggle music.

"Records," Hermione sighed, raising her head once again. "They're called _records_. And I thought being familiar with Paul Simon would get you thrown out of Slytherin House. Did you want anything in particular, _Parkinson_, or are you fulfilling some sort of civic duty by attempting idle conversation with a Muggleborn?"

"Firstly, _Granger_," Pansy drawled. "I don't wear a sign around my neck that advertises my interest in _that_ kind of music. After all, it would be rather stupid to do so, and I'm anything but. Secondly, I'm bored. You're here. And thirdly, it amuses me that I seem to make you so uncomfortable. I can't help but wonder if that's because of my general opinion regarding those of your blood, or if there might be another reason that – "

"As if I'd _have_ another reason!" Hermione exclaimed. "You and your friends call me _Mudblood_, and yet you expect me to engage in a discussion about the merits of Muggle music with you? Why? Just because you were _bored?_ Your arrogance is astounding, Parkinson."

Pansy raised an eyebrow, and Hermione could feel her cheeks burn. Pansy began to file her nails again, stretching her hand out as she admired the way the round tips seemed to gleam in the dim light of the classroom.

"You know, Granger, just because the instructions are written down, it doesn't mean you have to follow them exactly," she said, gesturing towards the book in Hermione's lap as she did so. "Although, it _is_ rather amusing to see you glaring at Potter when he beats you time and again. What you need to do is to learn to how to deviate from the path once in awhile. True, you _are_ automatically at a disadvantage because of your blood, but you're a stubborn little twat, so I'd expected you to _at least_ try new ways of improving. You know, instead of simply following some dull _book_."

"I do _not_ need advice from _you_ regarding _my_ classes," Hermione said stiffly, glaring at Pansy and wondering why Seamus thought she was even _remotely_ attractive last year. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a Scintillation Solution to analyze. You'll just have to find some other way to distract yourself until the rest of the class arrives."

Pansy remained quiet as Hermione looked back to her textbook. She wondered where Slughorn and the others were, and she couldn't help but wish they'd all hurry themselves up and get to class, because she could feel Pansy's eyes on her. Pansy was studying her, watching her, as if Hermione were some sort of difficult problem in Arithmancy that she was trying to solve, and it made her feel very, very uncomfortable. But knowing she'd gotten the last word, at least, made it a bit easier to focus. She turned the pages of her book, purposefully ignoring Pansy's sullen scowl turning into an amused smirk, but she was not surprised when she once again heard the increasingly familiar voice ring out in the empty classroom.

"What about Fleetwood Mac?"

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End file.
